Where there's never an unspoken adorable thought.

Addicted to Negativity!

I think I have been addicted to negativity. I have been addicted to negativity like an alcoholic is addicted to alcohol; like a drug addict is addicted to drugs; like a sex addict is addicted to sex!

I always imagine 1970s rock stars like Pete Townsend having a hard time giving up booze and drugs because they were afraid that without those things, their artistic talents would suffer. That Townsend, specifically, equated drugs before a concert with playing something incredibly badass. Also, I may have read that in Rolling Stone magazine in 1982. I’m not sure. Whatever!

But then you listen to his first album after he got clean, All the Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes, and it’s brilliant! Possibly better than anything he’d ever recorded with The Who.

That’s how I’ve felt about making fun of shit: That if I didn’t make FUN of something, it WOULDN’T be funny. But that’s not true! I mean, it’s okay to make fun of the silliness and absurdity of it all (it all = LIFE), but you can’t go around making fun of PEOPLE. Very SPECIFIC people. Because, #1: you risk the people READING your work will then see THEMSELVES in what you’re making fun of and then they won’t learn any lesson about how they SHOULD behave. <— That’s a joke. No, because if you’re constantly making fun of stuff, everyone will feel attacked at some point, and that’s just not nice. It’s also not funny. IT’S TRAGIC. Why?

Because all that negative making fun of stuff just seals it into your own soul and the bitching and moaning and demeaning of bitchez and douchebags and rich people and stupid RI drivers ALSO makes you hate those VERY SAME PARTS OF YOURSELF, which, trust me, are in abundance.

The trick is, you have to see the value in EVERYBODY. It’s always been easy for me to see the good in some poor guy, riding down the bike path on some 20-year-old, 10-speed bike, wheels squeaking, stolen milk crate attached to the back, filled with a boom box playing music as he rides. For me, it’s EASY to love the disenfranchised.

What’s hard for me is loving those women who have so much, because THOSE LADIES CAN BE SO MEAN TO THE GUYS ON THE BIKES! And, even worse, those ladies are mean to their WAITRESSES! But, not ALL of the ladies I make fun of are mean. And those who are mean, are learning too. And, you know what, I’m mean too! Not to waitresses! God no. I love anyone who’s serving me some fucking food. No, I’m mean to the people who have so much. That’s not better!

No one is like, Okay that fancy lady over there is being mean to the cashier at Michael’s Craft Store, but Bardagy is being mean to the lady who was mean to the cashier, that’s perfectly cool. No! It’s not cool! IT’S ALL MEAN!

So, from here on out, I am un-addicting myself to the making fun of bitchez, douchebags, Stepfords, bad Rhode Island drivers, luxury car drivers (even the Land/Range Rovers drivers. EVEN THE RANGE/LAND ROVER DRIVERS!!!!!), and — what else — I’m sure there are more…Oh! The males of the Republican right who are into vagina control. Look! I even capitalized Republican!

That last one is going to be hard. DIGRESSION: Those of you who know my Facebook feed know how much I love the Foo Fighters. One day it occurred to me that if Dave Grohl was against abortion rights, I could never listen to his music again. THAT’S HOW INTO MY VAGINA I AM. So, maybe I’ll go slow on that last one…I mean, there’s gotta be some line between being mean and having STANDARDS, right? I’m all into a baseline of standards for the vag. But, I’ll try not to get too STUCK on it. Because you can’t go around just thinking that people are EVIL for wanting to control your vagina. They’re doing what THEY think is right. You know, saving babies but gutting public funding for anything to support families. AHHH! I TOLD YOU THAT LAST ONE WOULD BE HARD!

I need some methadone equivalent to take while I begin to lay off THOSE guys. Maybe I’ll start using drugs. JUST KIDDING!

Such wit! I had a friend who did the whole snap a band on your wrist when you complain, then switch it to the other wrist and see how many times a day you complain about something, anything. She wanted to distance herself from people who complain. That included me, because from time to time I do complain! I own it. The conversation got deep and I told her I thought I knew her better as a person when she voiced her thoughts, even if they could be construed as complaining, otherwise it’s all surficey nicey-nice. Yeah…we don’t talk much anymore. It’s all, “So, I’m great! Are you great? Great! That’s nice. I’m so fine.” Snore.

If you slant back to the negative, I’m not going to hold it against you.